


Five Times That Ichabod Almost Slept with the Lieutenant (And One Time That He Did)

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: And he's a bundle of nerves, Camping, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, F/M, Gen, Ichabod is a Mothen Hen, Literal Sleeping Together, Movie Night, Nervous Ichabod, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Sleep, Tea, Winter, ichabbie - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 15:24:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2473088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times That Ichabod Almost Slept with the Lieutenant (And One Time That He Did)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own _Sleepy Hollow_.
> 
> And it's implied that Katrina dies somewhere around #4 in this 5+1. Ichabbie.

**1.**

It was winter and horrendously cold.

Ichabod found himself comfortably warm within the embrace of his coat, something that he wouldn't dare venture outside now without. Indoors, he took to heavier clothing and sherpa blankets, finding these marvels of the 21st century to be equally practical as they were aesthetically pleasing.

There was more snow on the ground than he recalled ever seeing in his life and he had no desire to meander out through the falling flakes. However, regardless of weather and whining, Miss Mills had pushed her way out to Ichabod's cabin for an impromptu study session, and now Ichabod was methodically preparing tea with orange zest for both of them.

His table, host to a hundred different newspapers, ex-case files, or pieces that he found at the convenience store that he thought overtly strange or interesting, had ended up being no place for a study session, so the Lieutenant had taken over first the floor, and, most presently, his bed.

Ichabod raised his eyebrows slightly as he carefully stepped over paper and snow boots, carrying the tray over to the bed. "I see you've taken to higher ground," he commented, sliding it onto the stand near the bed.

Abbie glanced up. She looked exhausted in that mere half second, but it was hidden quickly as he looked back to her paperwork. "Sorry," she muttered. "I couldn't feel half my body and the floor was getting cold. I can't find a pattern here."

Ichabod poured two cups of tea carefully before offering a tea cup over to Miss Mills. It was Wedgewood, and it was beautiful, his favourite out of all of the drinking utensils he had. He had found the proper tea set at, what was it called? A rummage sale. He had been overjoyed to find the legitimate piece, and it remained one of his most cherished belongings now.

"Oh, thanks," Abbie said gratefully, taking the tea cup and saucer and bracing it on her thigh so that she could rub at her eyes. "It pretty much sucks when our days off aren't really days off."

"I take it they are not very common in your line of work?" he asked absently, pouring himself a cup and then warming his fingers around it.

"Not very common is an understatement," Abbie muttered over her tea before taking a drink.

"That is most unfortunate. I would prefer to have more time to sample the marvels of this century with you if I had the choice."

Abbie's lips twitch up at the corner. "You and me both, Crane. There's no rest for the wicked."

Ichabod just raised an eyebrow in return, chosing not to respond. He didn't think the Lieutenant was wicked, but he had the feeling it had been rhetorical. Or maybe metaphorical. Nonetheless, he guessed it probably wasn't literal.

He silently pondered over what current correlation there was between the double murders they were investigating and a series of doubles seven years ago as he drank his tea. Miss Mills did the same, although with more exclamations of occasional annoyance and heavy sighs.

Ichabod suspected that it was, simply, just one of those days.

It wasn't until later, and even then Ichabod had no recollection of when, that he discovered Miss Mills had fallen asleep.

He glanced over at Abbie, watching her inhale and then exhale quietly, for a moment. Then he put the book he was currently reading down and stood from his perch on the edge of the bed. He crossed the room, pulled the throw blanket from the back of the sofa, and gently draped it across Abbie's sleeping form. She was sleeping on top of the other blankets, so that one blanket was doing to have to do.

Ichabod gently wiggled the paperwork from Abbie's fingers and tucked the blanket around her shoulders. He then stood back, watched her for another second, and then smiled slightly and turned away.

He sank onto the sofa with a sigh through his nose. Clearly, it was one of those nights where he would be wedged into the small expanse of its confines, but no matter.

He may have lost his bed to Abigail Mills, but at least she was getting her sleep.

**2.**

Scientific fiction wasn't Ichabod's least favourite genre of movie, but it wasn't his favourite, either. While Abbie was smitten on whatever sci-fi they were watching now (Ichabod had admittingly already forgotten the name), he found little reason why it was considered one of the most popular movies of today.

He stifled a yawn, and then five minutes later, failed to stifle another yawn. He braced himself in preparation of a lecture from Lieutenant Mills on the undeniable chemistry of the leads, the lure of life in the future (which Ichabod has frankly had enough of to begin with), or the history involved in a back story that he didn't understand, but one didn't come.

He chanced a glance sideways at her and then blinked in surprise when he found that she wasn't even paying attention. In fact, her eyes were closed.

"Miss Mills?"

Abbie said nothing in return; Ichabod realised shortly that his companion was asleep. Asleep over the movie that she had demanded that he watch. Ichabod fought down the childish urge to smile and instead pressed his lips into a thin line. He reached for the remote, pressed the button to power it off, and looked back at the Lieutenant.

He could leave her here. Of course, she would probably end up slumping over and, when Ichabod wasn't sitting there, she'd end up pitching sideways, ultimately waking up. He could easily move her into her own bedroom. She was small enough that carrying her would be no problem. He wasn't sure if he could manage moving her without her waking up.

Ichabod's eyebrows knitted together contemplatively. He supposed the other option was laying her down on the sofa. That seemed like the best option. The unfortunate side effect to this was that the Lieutenant was his ride home.

Nonetheless, he wasn't going to wake her up now. He couldn't camp out on the sofa while she was sleeping on it, either, so he stood up, gently eased the sleeping Lieutenant down onto the cushions and the pillows, and looked around the room helplessly.

He'd managed on worse circumstances, though. So, he found a pad of paper and a pen, scribbled down a note to Abbie, and locked the door behind him after he left.

It was a good thing he didn't mind walking.

**3.**

It wasn't that he minded sharing a hotel room with the Lieutenant. He enjoyed their time together and was always more than ready for (most) modern experiences. But research on a particularly nasty brand of demon had taken them out of town, and the only hotel for miles had one available room.

Ichabod licked his lips, nervous a little despite himself, as he watched Abbie throw her bag onto the chair and sigh heavily.

"Come on, Crane, stop hovering in the doorway and settle down. I'm gonna have a shower," Abbie announced and then vanished into the attached bathroom.

Ichabod's breath left him in a gust. He hadn't been in such close quarters with a woman since... well, Katrina. Yes, he had been to Miss Mill's home, and she to his, but this was different. This was wholly uninvited and purely out of necessity and, for some reason that Ichabod hadn't quite figured out, it was infinitely more uncomfortable.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

 

 

"Look, I don't care. Just get in bed."

"Lieutenant-"

" _Crane_."

"It wouldn't-."

"Crane, we're in the middle of who-knows-where with a one room hotel. Get in _bed_. You need to sleep."

"As do you, Lieutenant, and it would hardly be-"

"If you appropriate, Crane, I will shoot you."

Ichabod straightened his shoulder. "Proper."

"Just get in bed."

There was a sense of determination in Lt. Mills that would have frightened the strongest of men; Ichabod was not privy to where she had discovered the inner strength, just as he had not discovered how to say no to that determination.

Which is how he very much ended up in bed next to Miss Mills, a married man side by side with an unmarried woman.

"Would you relax?" Abbie muttered.

"I find that impossible for the circumstances, Lieutenant." And it was, with his fingers clenched tightly around the blankets and the overwhelming warmth of presence just beyond his left shoulder.

"You'll never get to sleep if you don't."

Ichabod honestly didn't plan on it.

As soon as he was sure that Miss Mills was asleep, he pushed the blankets aside and escaped from the stifling confines of impropriety. He would say that he had slept during the night, but he didn't stop to think that his red eyes would give him away.

**4.**

Ichabod learned a lot about the way society had progressed since his day. An unmarried woman alone with a member of the opposite sex would have been strongly discouraged, at the very least, in the past, but now, it was perfectly acceptable for a woman of Lt. Mill's caliber to go off on an extended roadtrip with a man of his own caliber. His intentions were true, but who was to say that any other man's would not be?

"Alright, I've got to get some sleep," Abbie muttered, guiding the car off into the designated rest stop. "We're going to have to pick up tomorrow or risk running off the road."

"Very well," Ichabod said simply, casting his gaze about the abandoned stop.

Abbie scoffed, a half laugh that was accompanied with an eye roll. "And there you go, accepting what's in front of you."

Ichabod raised his eyebrows. "We could always switch?" he suggested innocently. "I could drive."

Abbie _did_ laugh at that. "Not a chance, Crane. Get some shut eye." She reached down near her seat and Ichabod was surprised when it reclined back. His expression must have showed, because Abbie picked up conversation a moment later. "Yeah, the seats go back. Makes sleeping so much easier. There's a button on the side, press the one furthermost in the back."

Ichabod obeyed, jumping slightly when the seat shifted beneath him. "Interesting, these vehicles. There's lots of hidden surprises."

"Like being trapped out in a rainstorm because the vehicle in question broke down?" Abbie asked, glancing at him as she shifted her head on the head rest.

"Also an unexpected surprise," Ichabod agreed, thinking of earlier, where both he and Miss Mills's combined intelligence couldn't fix a faulty vehicle. Fortunately, a mechanic had been able to fix the problem simply enough, but not before both of them had ended up drenched due to the rain. It had been an interesting start to their roadtrip.

He folded his hands over his stomach and directed his gaze towards the top of the car, wondering if he should make conversation. In the end, he decided against it; all in all, a wise decision, as the Lieutenant was asleep soon thereafter.

The Lieutenant had an uncanny ability to fall asleep quickly, with little preamble, something that Crane admired and envied slightly. As it were, listening to the rainfall on the roof of the car and the Lieutenant's quiet breaths, Ichabod found himself unable to sleep again. It seemed... It seemed as though Abbie had an effect on him that way.

Naturally, however, as soon as she was awake in the morning and had pulled the car back onto the highway, Ichabod was out like a light to the steady purr of the engine.

**5.**

Camping was, in a word, breathtaking.

Ichabod loved the nature and he loved the simplicity of it. He liked the 21st century, but there were times where all the electric devices, loud noises, and bustle of people was a bit too much. So, when one of their adventures with the supernatural took them camping, Ichabod was more than eager to try it out.

He didn't count on sharing the same tent as Abbie, who always brought a sort of flutter to his chest that he was unaccustomed to feeling whenever they were in situations that involved close quarters.

Still, as a gentleman, he made no fuss about it this time. It wasn't as though they were sharing a sleeping bag (a strange object meant for sleeping, that was hardly comfortable and not like a bag in any way that Ichabod could see).

Still, he spent most of his night with his arm pillowed beneath his head, staring at the top of the tent. And, occasionally, although he would hasten to disagree about if anyone brought it up, watching Abbie sleep. He'd seen her sleep on various occasions, but there was something intriguing about it now.

Her dark hair cascaded down her rolled up jacket and onto the scratchy plastic of the bottom of the tent. Her eyes moved every so often beneath her eyelids, product of a dream that Ichabod caught himself wondering what it was about. Her lips were parted slightly and her breaths were audible in the natural silence of sleeping outdoors.

When Ichabod glanced over on one occasion, the Lieutenant's shirt had fallen away from her shoulder, revealing a thin strip of her collar bone. He felt his cheeks warm in regards to the absent catch and he puffed out a breath, clumsily rolling over until his back was to her.

His sleeping bag felt too constricting and the tent too warm. He eventually crawled out through the flap and sat next to the pile of timber that they had used for a fire, leaning back against a rotting log feet away. He ended up falling asleep like that, head propped up on the log with his legs stretched out in front of him, until Abbie kicked his ankle and startled him awake.

"You're doing it wrong," she said with a smile, still cloudy with sleep.

Ichabod felt everything that he had in hours prior. He cleared his throat. "I was too warm."

"Yeah, well, you've got a centipede on your shoulder," Abbie replied.

It was a mood dampener like no other, but it did, at least, give him something else to think about as he peeled the creature away and lowered it sourly into a bed of nearby leaves.

**\+ 1**

Ichabod woke up slowly, a little bleary on details like he was every morning, a little more warm than he was used to being. It came back to him quickly, mostly because he could feel warm breath against his collar bone. He tilted his head down slightly to look at Abbie.

She was curled up against his chest, her head tucked into the space where his neck curved into his shoulder. Going by her respiration, she was still asleep, and Crane forced himself to hold very still despite the initial jolt of insecurity that washed over him.

They were entitled to this.

He had to remind himself to breathe.

It had been maybe three, four weeks ago that, as was the common phrase now, their relationship had gone to the next level. They had been good friends before moving onto this type of relationship, this courting type of relationship that they now had, so it was easy to fall into holding hands or cuddling on the sofa, but there were still some things that Ichabod was unsure about, and countless other things that he wasn't yet comfortable with.

After loving so deeply with Katrina, it was difficult to move on. He wouldn't deny that. Thankfully, Abbie realised that, like she had from the very start. And, like from the start, she was there to help him along the way.

He wondered if that made him, what was it... _pathetic_.

Apparently, Abbie, who, in all her patient glory, had talked him into sleeping with her - _only_ sleeping! That was not a euphemism! - last night, didn't think so. But then, she was biased, Ichabod supposed. However, anyone else's opinion did not matter, he also reckoned.

Her breath was soft and warm against his exposed skin. They were both completely clothed, but the long-sleeved t-shirt he had labelled as his ‘pyjamas’ had fallen away slightly, enabling him to feel her quiet exhales. One of his arms was caught under her shoulders. He hesitantly curled his fingers into the back of her shirt, splaying his hand against her back. Abbie shifted closer but did not wake up.

Ichabod exhaled again. He could smell her shampoo, drawn up by his breath ruffling her hair. His own hair tickled his neck. He felt oversensitised. It wasn't a wholly unpleasant feeling.

He had to keep reminding himself that he now did have the luxury of tilting his head down and kissing the top of Abbie's head. It was an unfamiliar motion, and the best he managed was brushing his lips against the soft strands of her hair, like the touch of the wind on an autumn day.

He felt like he was moving at a snail's pace, but pushing it made it feel wrong.

 _It takes time_ , Abbie had told him, after Katrina had passed away.

Ichabod had to swallow his pride. It didn't matter if he felt like he was taking two steps backwards for every one step forward. Progress was all that mattered, and managing to catch a few hours of sleep tangled up with the only woman in his life was progress.

He breathed in the scent of her shampoo, her skin, of Abbie. He would take all the time he was given to make this perfect. Learning to love again was a difficult road, but living without it was more difficult still.

Ichabod shifted slightly, plagued by the constant feeling that he wasn't doing something right. He was just beginning to wonder what he should do with the hand that wasn't trapped under Abbie's weight, where the most comfortable position would be to have it, when Abbie's fingers suddenly curled around his. A small shiver travelled down his spine and he looked down at the top of her head again.

"I can practically feel your indecision," Abbie murmured, without raising her head.

Ichabod smiled faintly, squeezing her fingers. "My apologies," he said quietly. His voice was gravelly from sleep. He cleared his throat quietly, almost missing Abbie's next words.

"Just don't let go."

Reaction came unbidden this time: he pressed the kiss against her hair, his lips curved into a smile. "I wouldn't dream of it, Miss Mills."

He wouldn't, so he hung on tightly instead. It was a difficult road, but he wouldn't walk it alone now for anything.


End file.
